24601
by RabulaTasa
Summary: A fugitive from the law, Kim wants nothing more than to live quietly in peace, but with the insatiable Inspector Barkin on her trail and an impoverished Ron willing to do anything to provide for his daughter, that isn't terribly likely. KP/Les Mis AU
1. Work Song

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Kim Possible

**Author's Note**: And now I venture forth into another fandom I've long admired. I have no plans for continuing this story beyond Cossette growing up, a decision I arrived at largely because the potential for character substitution is severely diminished beyond that. If anyone has a viable suggestion for going further that they can present to me, however, I am all ears. Well, only 0.1 percent ears, but that's just being excessively literal.

Initially, I had a lot of difficulty in deciding who would play the parts of Jean Valjean and Fantine, as both Kim and Ron could workably fit into either role. In the end, I chose to put Kim in the role of Valjean—despite Ron's relationship with Barkin and the potential to name him 'Ron Valjean'—because… well, I guess you'll see. Whether you agree with my choice is a whole other matter…

For those interested, the section headers will (more or less) correspond with songs from the musical. Look them up on youtube if you want to hear the source material (I'm pulling from the Tenth Anniversary Concert). Also, keep in mind that I update when I damn well please… and that tends to be fairly infrequently more often than not.

_To love another person is to see the face of God._

-Jean Valjean

* * *

_**Work Song**_

Prisoner #24601 Kimberly Anne Possible grimaced as the gray slop slowly dribbled from the cafeteria lady's ice cream scoop before flopping and onto her tray with a disgusting squelch. She had long ago resigned herself to suffering the alleged 'food' that the Upperton Women's Correctional Facility forced upon its residents, but she couldn't help but believe that her and her fellow inmates' 8th Amendment rights were being violated.

The woman behind the counter snapped Kim out of her legal musings with a sharp reprimand concerning the line and her role in holding it up. Her frown deepening, the redhead steadied her tray against her abdomen and turned towards the table she customarily sat at.

As usual, she found her path unimpeded by any of her fellow inmates. Despite her usually sunny disposition, word had quickly gotten out among the felonious females that the auburn-haired woman was not to be trifled with. The rumors ran the gamut from "she knows sixteen kinds of kung-fu" to "she killed Adrena Lynn with her bare hands in the showers" (a claim highly disputed by Ms. Lynn herself). Whatever the reason for the deference may have been, Kim was thankful for it; she didn't _like_ hurting people, but she was good at it.

Reaching her table, Kim set her tray down beside the one prisoner at the institution that wasn't terrified of her: her cellmate Monique. It hadn't taken twenty seconds for the imminently sensible inmate to see that her fair-skinned roomie was relatively harmless ("So what're you in for, Red?" "I killed a man." "Burglary?" "Loaf of bread. You?" "I killed my husband." "Burglary too? Wow, what're the odds?" "No, I really _did_ kill my husband. I got back early from a fashion show and caught the bastard in bed with another woman." "… Oh."). The pair quickly bonded, and found that they could talk for hours on end without ever running out of conversation topics. Soon after she set her tray down at the table, Kim found herself laughing at Monique's observations regarding their fellow inmates.

"And she's going _on_ about how _strong_ the sun is and how hot she is, and I'm sitting there thinking 'Girl, we're in _Colorado_. It's maybe, what, sixty degrees outside? I've done time in freaking _Parchman_. This is _nothing_!'"

Kim snickered at her friend. "It's actually eighty five, but go on."

Monique dismissed the correction with a wave of her hand. "Whatever. The point is, this WLG won't—whiny little girl—she won't shut up, so then this other girl starts in on how she's innocent and how she's been praying to Jesus for deliverance from prison, and I'm _this close_ to telling her that unless 'Jesus' is the name of the lawyer filing her appeal, she's wasting her time with going down that road."

Kim shook her head in agreement with her friend. If God actually cared about any of them enough to not make their lives so incredibly shitty, probably seventy percent of the inmates here would have never seen the inside of a prison. She herself had a grievance or two against the Almighty for the circumstances that had lead to her incarceration.

The double doors leading into the mess hall crashed open, and Kim let out an involuntary groan at the sight of the man in the doorway. Her tablemate raised an eyebrow in a silent demand for an explanation. Hunching down and hoping that the massive man blocking the entrance couldn't see her, she whispered a single word: "Barkin."

Monique's eyes widened in recognition. Over the course of their friendship, she had heard _plenty_ about Kim's arresting officer, Inspector Barkin. Apparently, the guy had a real issue with the girl, one that she blamed on "a funny look I gave him while he was cuffing me."

Inspector Barkin scanned the crowded mess hall for the face belonging to the name on the file he held in his hand. Failing to pick his quarry out of the crowd, he settled on a different approach.

"Now bring me Prisoner 24601," Inspector Barkin demanded. With a groan, Kim stood up and made her way to the grim-faced man as he continued. "Your time is up and your parole's begun." He didn't slow down in the slightest at the sound of Kim's involuntary gasp at the news. "You know what that means?" It took a few seconds before Kim could trust herself to speak, but eventually she whispered loud enough for him to hear:

"Yes, it means I'm free."

Inspector Barkin allowed himself a slight smirk at the soon to be released prisoner. _This_ was why he was disregarding the usual protocol for informing the parolee of the committee's decision.

"No, it means you get your yellow ticket of leave." Kim frowned at this bit of news; Colorado had recently implemented a public-safety initiative that required all parolees to visibly display a yellow tag on their clothing so that they could be identified as probable troublemakers. As she contemplated the impact this bit of news would have on her life, Inspector Barkin continued with his speech.

"You are a thief!" he spat contemptuously.

"I stole a loaf of bread," Kim snorted in retort. She seriously couldn't understand why this guy had such a problem with her. There were much more serious criminals out there on the streets, after all.

"You robbed a house!" the red-faced officer shouted angrily.

"What would you have had me do, Barkin?" She finally lost her temper, closing the distance between them in a few steps and getting her face as close to his as she could given their difference in height. "My parents were gone, my two brothers were close to death, and we were _all_ starving!"

Having succeeded in getting a reaction out of the girl, Inspector Barkin relaxed. "And unless you learn the meaning of the Law, you'll find yourself starving again-"

Kim's temper continued to rise, and she found herself snarling at the smug-looking officer. "I certainly know the meaning of the last five years of my life living as a _slave_ to your _Law_."

"You know very well why you spent so much time here, 24601-"

"My _name_," she ground out between her teeth, "is Kim. Possible."

Barkin snorted in amusement as he turned away dismissively, leaving a fuming redhead behind him clenching her fists in anger. "And I'm Steve Barkin. Remember that, 24601." The door swung shut, and Prisoner #24601 Kimberly Anne Possible stormed back to her seat next to Monique, sitting down without saying a word for the remainder of the lunch period.

Monique made a mental note to herself to make sure that Adrena Lynn was _really_ still alive once Kim was processed out. _If looks could kill_…

* * *

**Author's Note**: Yes, Kim and Monique are a bit out of character. That's prison for you.


	2. On Parole, The Bishop

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Kim Possible

_Now the wheel has turned around; Jean Valjean is nothing now!_

-Inspector Javert

* * *

_**On Parole**_ and _**The Bishop**_

Kim stepped off of the bus that had delivered her back to Middleton from the state prison she had been forced to call home for the past five years of her life. She had only just turned sixteen when she had been caught pilfering foodstuffs from the home of Middleton High School's librarian, who apparently adapted whatever unholy organizational system that she used at her place of work for use in her kitchen pantry… as well as a state-of-the-art security system.

Kim had cursed her luck for years after the event; after all, what were the odds that she would break into the only house in Middleton whose resident would report a missing loaf of bread to the police? What were the odds that the detective assigned to the case had to be the only human being in existence who could justify spending enough money to feed Kim and her brothers for a year on solving such an insignificant crime? What were the odds of this all happening on an election year with a district attorney who wanted to appear "tough on crime" for her constituents by grossly inflating the charges against her? And let no one forget the judge who, for similar reasons, handed down a sentence wildly disproportionate to the crime she had committed.

All of that bad luck, however, could almost be forgotten in the beautiful Colorado air… _almost_. Her return to the free world had been marred from its very outset by the failure of the authorities to locate her twin brothers, whom she had been forced to leave behind when Inspector Barkin had incapacitated her with a shock from his taser and taken her into custody. While she had little doubt that her brothers had been able to get along fine in her absence—four years of experience on the streets (the first three didn't count, in Kim's opinion) and enough brainpower between them to put almost any of today's "finest scientific minds" to shame were major plusses in the "ability to survive" column—it would have been extraordinarily nice to be able to see them, if for no other reason than to keep an eye on the twin terrors.

Keep your friends close, your enemies closer, and your little brothers within arms' reach.

* * *

Ronald Dean Stoppable trudged into the inn with a light wallet a heavy—and giggling—load slung in his arm.

Five years ago, Ron was on top of the world. The tow-headed boy was in love with his beautiful girlfriend, who had become agreed to become his fiancé shortly before she had informed him that he was to become a father. His parents had been understandably concerned, as the two were only juniors in their respective high schools, but they felt that they couldn't object too strongly, not having been much older themselves when Ron had been born. 'At least,' they thought, 'they agreed to put off the wedding until after their daughter, was born.'

For almost seven months, life carried on as it should: his wife-to-be grew progressively larger (and, to Ron, progressively more beautiful), and he was there to support her through the considerable trials of pregnancy.

Then his parents died in a car accident with a drunk driver with no license and no insurance. To their son's considerable surprise, his parents had—ironically, considering his father's profession—failed to purchase any form of life insurance (Ron morbidly imagined them saying, in ghostly tones, that "This _is_ our way of telling you."). Within the month, the bank foreclosed on the house, the surviving car was gone, and Ron's personal savings were exhausted.

Then his fiancé called to let him know that she was going into labor. Early. Ron hailed a cab and raced to the hospital, where he spent the next eight hours holding his love's hand and encouraging her through the ordeal. When baby Hana was born, she was everything Ron had ever dreamed of in a child. In spite of all the trials and tribulations he had gone through in the last month, his beautiful daughter gave him hope that everything would turn out alright.

The next day, Yori checked out of the hospital AMA and vanished like a ninja into the night. Ron would never see or hear from her ever again.

Financially in ruin and saddled with the responsibility (and hospital bills) of taking care of a premature infant on his own, Ron did what he did best: panic. After getting that out of his system, he buckled down and got a halfway decent job. For a short time, it looked like he would be able to dig himself out of the hole he and Hana were in… which to Ron, meant that he was past due for life to kick him in the teeth once again.

He was probably one of the few people in the country who _wasn't_ surprised when the economy (figuratively) went up in flames and the company he worked for went belly up. That his apartment (literally) went up in flames that same day was, to him, almost as predictable. His only consolation was that he had managed to get Hana out before any harm could come to her.

And so Ronald Dean Stoppable, with only a thousand dollars in his bank account standing between him and being homeless _and_ penniless, trudged into the shoddy-looking inn in search of a roof for the night.

"Good evening, monsieur," said the man behind the counter, "and welcome to _Drakkanada._ How may I help you?" A voice in the back of Ron's head remarked that the faintly blue-tinged man before him(_What weird lighting this place has!_) would have likely been a mad scientist in another life, but he studiously ignored it and made his way to the desk.

"I just need a ro-" Ron was cut off by the sound of wailing coming from the back room, which was soon accompanied by a tired woman's voice all but begging for the source of the din to go back to sleep. The noise of an infant being taken care of provided the inspiration for the idea that would change Ron's life forever.

The next day, Ronald Dean Stoppable trudged out of the inn with an even lighter wallet than he had arrived with, and left behind a giggling infant in the hands of a family that would be capable of taking proper care of her… so long as he helped pay for her upkeep.

* * *

The joy of freedom was quickly wearing off for Kim. Her status as an ex-con and a parolee made finding a place to live all but impossible, and when she _could_ find a place willing to permit her residence, the living conditions were abominable and the rent exorbitant. Then came the problem of a job.

_Kim stared down at her paycheck in astonishment. She had worked sixty hours for the last week for _this_ pittance? Surely, there had to have been a mistake. But when she talked to Ned, the assistant manager…_

"_You're right, Miss Possible, payroll _did_ make a mistake: you were overpaid this week. It'll be deducted from your next paycheck though, so don't worry."_

_Kim was outraged. "_Overpaid?!_ This… this _check_ wouldn't buy my sweat! I put in twenty hours of overtime-"_

"_Which," Ned interrupted, "was the cause for the mistake. According to the latest 'Get Tough on Crime' law passed by the state legislature, parolees are ineligible for overtime pay. Why else do you think you were hired?"_

That had proven to be the last straw for Kim, who lost it and opened up sixteen cans of ass-kicking on her overbearing _ex_-boss. And while giving the little tyrant a turbo-noogie had felt all kinds of good, the fact that she now had no foreseeable source of income with which to spend on little things like _food_ and _rent_ put a serious damper on her sense of euphoria. The next month, the landlord provided her with a notice of eviction, and Kim was kicked to the curb.

Homeless, hungry, and without any job prospects, she wandered the streets of Middleton aimlessly, paying little attention to where she was going, and even less to her surroundings. It wasn't until she felt another shoulder collide with hers that she snapped out of her stupor… just in time to see the surprised bearded face of the man that she had run into fall backwards into the street. With the reflexes of a cat, Kim reached out and grabbed the man by the lapel and jerked him back onto the sidewalk just as a pickup truck flew by, blissfully unaware of the man it had come within milliseconds of flattening.

"Oh my God, are you okay? I'm so sorr-" Kim was cut off by a wave of the hand from the man she had almost knocked into traffic.

"I'm alright, thanks to you. That move of yours saved my life!" The bearded man grinned and pulled a thick pair of glasses out of his pocket and placed them on his face. "Besides," he admitted, "it's not as though I am entirely blameless. Walking around without these on was not the best decision I have made today… ah, the vanity of middle age." At this, Kim let out a relieved snicker that, to her embarrassment, was accompanied by a loud rumbling from her stomach and a corresponding chuckle from her companion.

"Please, allow me to introduce myself; my name is Rabbi Gerald Katz, and this," he waved his hand toward the building they were standing in front of, "is my place of work. As luck would have it, we're having a potluck lunch in a few minutes, and we would be honored if you would break bread with us."

* * *

The food was delicious, and the company was extremely friendly. Kim was greeted by every member of the congregation as one of their own, even in spite of the yellow ticket clearly identifying her as an ex-con and parolee. The Rabbi himself proved to be one of the most skilled listeners she had ever encountered, and she soon found herself giving him her life story. The two talked long after the get-together had ended and the synagogue cleaned up. Eventually, however, Rabbi Katz had to go home to his family, and Kim had to go to…

"If you would like, Kimberly, you may use the couch to sleep on for tonight. It's not the most comfortable arrangement, I'll admit-"

"But," Kim interrupted, "it's better than a park bench. Thank you for your kindness, Rabbi." The older man simply smiled at her and left, leaving her alone with her thoughts.

Idly, Kim fingered the cursed yellow marker that so visibly and publicly marked her as a criminal. She had thought that by virtue of being out of prison, she would be "free." Now, however, she realized that even on the outside, she was imprisoned. She couldn't live off of potluck lunches and she certainly couldn't sleep on the synagogue's rec room couch for the rest of her days… but she couldn't see what choice she had. After the Bueno Nacho fiasco with Ned—which she regretted only because it made her even _more_ unemployable than before—making a living wage was impossible, and given her experience with her bloodsucking landlord…

Feeling restless, Kim got up off the couch and wandered the building on autopilot. After walking through the hallways for the better part of an hour, she stumbled upon a silver menorah in a glass case. For ten minutes she wrestled with herself, before finally succumbing to temptation and picking the lock.

Feeling guilty about the theft, she penned a note apologizing for her "repayment" of the Rabbi's kindness… then she took the silver and took her flight.

* * *

In retrospect, Kim decided that "taking flight" may not have been the wisest of choices; the police tend to take notice of people running in the middle of the night, and people with large unwieldy chunks of precious metal in their hand even more so. Her yellow tag, as usual, did little to help matters.

Her sense of shame would only permit her to feebly lie about the menorah being "a gift" from Rabbi Katz, and to her horror the police officers decided to put her story to the test. Thus, she found herself in front of the Rabbi's modest home, waiting for the man who had treated her so kindly to be informed of her treachery.

The officer to her right rang the doorbell, and shortly she found herself face to face with the man whom she had robbed. The officer on her left explained Kim's story to the Rabbi, who, after throwing the briefest of disappointed glances in Kim's direction…

"What she told you, sir, is true. I thank you for your concern, but the only crime Miss Possible here is guilty of is leaving before I could fetch the rest of her present for her."

The officers clearly didn't believe a word of what the Rabbi was saying, but as he obviously had no plans to press charges, there was no point in arresting the young woman standing between them.

Once they were alone on the doorstep, a heavy silence fell between them. Unable to bear the shame of her actions, Kim thrust the menorah in her hands towards the Rabbi, who surprised her again by pushing it back into her arms.

"Miss Possible, I was not _completely_ lying to those two officers who brought you here tonight. I will make you a present of this silver—there isn't any more, I _was_ lying about that—on one condition." Kim, who had been unable to look him in the eye up to that point, forced her face upwards. "I want you to take this precious silver here and use it to make an honest life for yourself."

Kim was speechless, and so resorted to silently nodding her assent to the conditions the Rabbi had proposed.

"Good. Now that that's settled, I'm going back to bed. Good night, Miss Possible, and good bye."

The door shut quietly behind him, and the porch light turned off seconds later.

When the sun rose the next morning, the only sign that Kimberly Anne Possible had ever been there was the torn remains of her yellow ticket of leave lying in front of the door.

* * *

**Author's Note**: The Bishop is one of my favorite characters in the musical, even though he's only there for two songs. That is some _serious_ cheek turning.


	3. At the End of the Day

**Disclaimer**: I don't own Kim Possible.

**Author's Note**: There is the possibility of me doing some sneaky things in this chapter and the ones that follow. To those of you who know the story already and choose to review, _please_ don't give away any surprises. I'm trying to disguise what I'm doing as best I can, but there's only so much I can do and still operate within the parameters of the original work.

_Those who follow the path of the righteous shall have their reward. And if they fall, as Lucifer fell: the flame, the sword!_

-Inspector Javert

* * *

_**At the End of the Day**_

The day after Kim Possible left her life behind, trouble was stirring in a top secret underground laboratory hundreds of miles away.

"Hicka-bicka-boo?" the adolescent man asked his partner. Sporting a lab coat and a grin, Jim Possible looked very much the part of the satisfied scientist. His brother and partner in crime Tim Possible responded to the inquiry as expected.

"Hoo-sha!" Tim Possible's clothing and expression matched his brother's perfectly, with the exception that both items showed evidence of having been lightly torched very recently in an explosion of one kind or another.

It had been three years since their employer had offered them their current jobs. The mysterious Wade Load had contacted them after one of their attempts to free their sister had gone awry early on in the execution stage and made them an offer.

_Jim and Tim growled under their breath at the library computer they were sitting at. Even after sneaking in their homemade upgrades to the aging machine, it still lacked the raw power that their program required in order to execute… and without that program, Operation: Cootie Rescue was dead in the water._

_The pair was about to give up and go back to their hideout in the nearby junkyard when the computer started making some very strange noises. Worried that their illicit additions to the computer were about to start some fireworks (as was the usual fate of their inventions), they backed away from the table and were about to dive for cover when the noises ceased, and a message appeared in the middle of their screen. Tim, who was marginally more daring than his older brother, edged back into the usual blast radius so that he could see what was written._

_A few seconds passed before Tim waved Jim over, his eyes still glued to the monitor. As they read, neither could really believe what they were seeing. "Gentlemen," the message began, "I have been observing your progress for some time now." It continued, provided critiques of every last one of their attempts to secure their sister's release, concluding with the failure of not even two minutes ago. "In spite of your lack of resources, you have shown yourselves to be remarkably inventive and capable. However, you are doing your sister no favors in your efforts to gain her freedom through extralegal means: should you succeed, all three of you would be fugitives from the law, and it is exceedingly difficult to keep yourself warm, fed, _and_ free with the resources that would be brought to bear against you. So I would like to make you an offer: come work for me in my lab, with proper tools and materials at your disposal, until your sister is legally released from prison. I will retain the patent rights to any inventions or innovations that you develop at my direction, and you will hold the patent rights to any inventions or innovations that you develop independently. That way, you will have a steady (and if I am not wrong, a not inconsiderable) source of income at your disposal for when your family can be reunited. If you are interested, send me an email with my name as the subject line in the next seven days."_

_Jim and Tim finished the message and stared blankly at it in shock. Then Jim smelled smoke, and pulled his brother away from the computer just before it went up in flames._

_Five days later, the twins had tracked down their prospective employer's name and email address—although that was _all_ that they could find about him—and accepted his offer. Within the hour, they found themselves on a private jet headed off to their new job._

The twins' celebration was interrupted by the intercom in the lab buzzing to life. They had still not met the man who employed them, but they suspected that was more from shyness than diabolic intent. After his first excessively _stiff_ message to them, they had expected someone a great deal older than themselves, but if his voice was to be believed, he was probably even _younger_ than they were!

"Uh, guys? I've got some good news… and some bad news for you." The voice of Wade Load sounded rather nervous, immediately worrying his two employees. "The good news is that Kim was paroled four days ago-"

"What?!" Tim shouted in surprise. "Why didn't-"

"-you tell us earlier?" Jim finished.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry!" Wade apologized. "There was a backlog at the Colorado Department of Corrections, and until thirty minutes ago, the only record that your sister was even being considered for parole was on paper!"

The twins forced themselves to calm down. They knew well enough that not even the world's best hacker—which they suspected Wade of being—could track down information that wasn't put onto a computer. "At least she's out, though," Jim finally said.

"And the bad news?" asked Tim.

"Well, uh, she went back to Middleton and worked at the Bueno Nacho for a day, then there's some business with a Rabbi Katz that doesn't make any sense—a police report about a gift, or something—and then this morning, um…"

"Well?" the twins asked together, impatiently.

"She broke her parole, and nobody knows where she is."

The explosion that erupted from the Possible twins dwarfed the one that had scorched Tim's lab coat.

* * *

_Three years later…_

Doctor Elizabeth "Betty" Director walked through the halls of Global Justice with a feeling that she felt was not unlike a mother's pride in her child.

Global Justice… though her face betrayed no emotion, she was laughing on the inside. When she had founded the company two years ago, nobody had thought that it would amount to much. Her first employee, William Du, had even remarked that he thought the name was a little bit braggy. A company of _two_ could hardly be "Global" after all.

Now, GJ was the premier private investigation company in the country, if not the world. As the head of the company, Dr. Director had travelled all over the globe to aid in investigations and apprehensions of terrorists, criminals, and assorted whackjob villains. She employed and trained several hundred agents of varying caliber, ranging from "outstanding" to "the absolute best of the best." She was still on top of the dogpile, but not for lack of trying. Agent Du kept striving to beat her scores on the simulators, and her top investigator…

_Well_' Betty laughed silently, _there's a reason they call Inspector Barkin "Mad Dog."_

Steve "Mad Dog" Barkin was famous throughout the company for his tenacity. Absolutely refusing to stop until he had solved the case, Agent Barkin had succeeded where other agents had failed by simply bulling his way to getting his man through sheer stubbornness.

As valuable a trait as that determination was, though, there were times that Dr. Director wished that he would simply… let go. Agent Barkin had his white whale, and anyone that spoke to him for longer than ten minutes soon heard about the one who got away: Kimberly Anne Possible, prisoner number 24601. It didn't matter that her crime had been insignificant, that she had escaped while on his watch was an intolerable insult to his pride, and when he wasn't on duty working on a case for GJ (and sometimes when he _was_), he was searching for the elusive redhead.

A commotion in the room up ahead snapped Betty from her thoughts. Reaching up to her forehead, she tugged the eyepatch-shaped lens into place. The neat little toy, which had been designed by some tiny company out of New Mexico called LoadTech, allowed its wearer, if they chose, to see in the infrared spectrum, to zoom in up to four times magnification, and even to use a simple facial recognition algorithm. It was this last feature that Dr. Director wanted to make use of. Opening the door ahead of her, the cause of the hubbub became apparent.

* * *

Ronald Stoppable had long ago mastered the art of keeping his head down, but sometimes even _his_ prodigious skill couldn't keep him out of trouble, and today was one of those days.

He had been working as an administrative assistant for Global Justice for the last six months, helping to make sure that the paperwork for each of the cases that the company investigated was properly filled out and filed where it belonged. They pay was good… but his financial obligations were severe. The monthly payments for Hana's upkeep had increased as she got older, a change the innkeeper blamed on "inflation" and "property damage." After paying for Hana, he had almost exactly enough left over to pay his bills, rent, and groceries. He saved what he could, but he was more than aware that a slight bump in the road at this point could spell disaster.

Then the mail came.

He had been expecting his monthly bill to arrive at his desk this morning, and to his surprise it did… in the hands of his supervisor Bonnie Rockwaller.

When he had arrived at Global Justice, he had been somewhat surprised when his _very_ attractive and _very_ friendly supervisor had invited him into her office during his lunch hour. She hadn't wasted any time in letting him know that she was a woman who knew what she wanted and how to get it… and to his bewilderment, she wanted _him_. Like a deer in the headlights, he had frozen in place as she advanced on him, but when she had placed her hand _there_, he sprang into action and fled the room in a state of panic.

That had been the end of the _very_ friendly Bonnie Rockwaller, and from then on she had made it her mission to make him miserable for as long as he worked at Global Justice. He found himself receiving the assignments that nobody wanted, working the shifts that nobody wanted, and being subjected to severe ass-chewings over even the most insignificant of perceived slights.

"So, Stoppable, I see you've got a little secret here, don't you?" Bonnie looked like the cat that swallowed the canary. "You'll snub _me_, but any other little harlot that comes your way is fair game, isn't it? I wonder what would happen to your precious little Hana if you, for some reason, suddenly lost your job?"

Ron looked around to make sure that nobody was looking and leaned in. "This," he hissed, "is _sexual harassment_, Ms. Rockwaller. I have a daughter, I pay for her keeping, and there is _nothing wrong with that!_" Bonnie barked out a derisive laugh.

"Sexual harassment? You're kidding, right? Who in the world would believe that someone like _me_ was sexually harassing a loser like _you_? No, Stoppable, you're ass is _mine_, and there's not a thing you can do about it. Heck, with debts like this, simply docking your pay would _ruin_ you, and if you don't do _exactly_ what I say, then that's _exactly_ what will happen." A predatory grin flashed across Bonnie's face. "Now kiss me, and make me believe it!"

Swallowing down the taste of bile in the back of his throat, Ron steeled himself and leaned in to give her a tentative peck. He was only inches away when she grabbed his collar and planted a lascivious kiss on his lips. Ron froze again, but was snapped out of it when Bonnie shoved him away from her, slapped him, and screamed.

Moments later, the door on the other side of the room slammed open, and Ron's heart sank. Standing in the doorway with a stern expression on her face was the head honcho, Dr. Director herself. "What's going on here, Mr. Stoppable?" Ron did a passable imitation of a goldfish, giving Bonnie the opening she needed. Within moments, Ron found himself made out to be a vile womanizer who had been taking indecent liberties with his tear-stricken boss.

"I see," said Dr. Director, when Bonnie had finished her story. She turned to Ron, "Have you anything to say in your defense?" Ron just gaped. "Very well. Agent Du, if you will?"

Will Du, who had appeared behind Ron without him noticing, clapped a hand on the blonde's shoulder. "Come with me, Mr. Stoppable," growled the Top Agent. "I think it's time you were on your way."

* * *


End file.
